


A Poor Fool On The Way To Love

by barbarosabee



Series: Fluffy oneshots [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Gen, Horse Shenanigans, Soft Arthur, everyone gets to be happy, pretty much ignored the plot of the game lmao, the "arthur has to take care of a baby horse" fic that like 1 person asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 07:13:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19421050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbarosabee/pseuds/barbarosabee
Summary: Arthur acquires another horse who takes a particular shine to his mare.





	A Poor Fool On The Way To Love

**Author's Note:**

> we're uhhhhh super ignoring any kind of canon timeline k

That eerie whisper-breeze persisted as Arthur squinted through his binoculars at the bright red bird. Trying to figure out if it was a scarlet tanager or a cardinal; he’d seen a poster offering good money for an intact specimen, but he didn’t want to go shooting every red bird he saw in hopes it was the correct one. 

Calliope’s quest for fresh grass brought her right up against Arthur’s feet, knocking into him and making him stumble. He turned to glare at her—she met him with one impassive eye and a snort before tearing into the grass again. Arthur grumbled, not really bothered, and lifted the binoculars.

“Nice lookin’ horse you got there!”

A flash of red and the bird sprung from the rock. Arthur turned to the stranger, ready with a glare.

What such a well-dressed and immaculately groomed man was doing this far north of Saint Denis, Arthur had no guesses to, but it got him pondering robbing the feller. Quiet stretch of track they were on, no direct route to Annesburg or even the railroad. Arthur had counted on it being deserted, hunting songbirds wasn’t exactly something he could with carriages rattling past.

“Paid top dollar for mine here. Straight from Europe! What do you say to a race?”

Arthur eyed the horse. Wasn’t like anything he’d seen around, or even available at a stable. Real  _ real _ tall, probably taller than Silver Dollar, leaner than a thoroughbred and a gorgeous buttermilk buckskin Arthur hadn’t seen on any horses this far east.

Arthur turned his attention to the rider. Gave that look Arthur got a lot, judged for his dusty clothes and his worn hat and the guns stuffed into his saddle. At best the guy thought he was some podunk ranchhand. 

Calliope bumped his elbow with her nose. “Sure. What’s the wager?”

“Do you have thirty dollars on you?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. He had a great deal more than that on him, thank you very much. “Sure do.”

“Fantastic. Finish at Brandywine Drop?”

Arthur swung onto Calliope, pat her neck. She perked up when she saw the other horse, knickered at it. It gave a disinterested swish of its tail. 

“Set?”

“Sure.”

The stranger spurred his horse forward without any warning. Arthur had a moment to be dismayed at the rough treatment before Calliope surged after them.

They raced along the narrow trail, Arthur close enough to get dirt flung in his face by the other horse’s hooves. Trees crowded on both sides of the trail made it impossible to pass. Athur was confident he knew the area better, though, and as soon as the path opened up he cut around the stranger. It was a shortcut, barely, too steep to take at a gallop if you didn’t know what you were doing.

But Calliope was more than excited to be allowed to go top speed, and she crashed through bushes and bounded over fallen trees like they were nothing. Arthur barely had to prompt her; he chanced a look behind him, thought  _ maybe _ he caught a glimpse of the pale horse. Could hear the man shouting, but it was quickly drowned out by the sound of the waterfall.

“Woah girl!” Arthur yanked on the reins before they overshot the Drop. Calliope skidded to a stop before the river, prancing, head high. Breathing hard, but Arthur knew she could’ve kept going if he let her. He’d been doing a lot of bird watching today.

The stranger thudded up to them a minute later. The buckskin’s sides heaved, foam under the saddle, caught against its chest. Arthur thought he saw blood at the corner of its mouth, wondered what kinda bit the man was using. The man’s hat had flown off at some point. He had a riding crop in one hand that Arthur hadn’t noticed before; as they neared the river, the man brought it down on the horse’s flank with a frustrated snarl. Something tightened in Arthur’s gut.

“You cheated!”

“All you said was first one to Brandywine Drop, mister, didn’t say anything about how to get there.”

The man dismounted. Arthur watched more closely, this time, and his heart sank at the sight of blood where the man’s spurs had dug into his horse’s sides.

Before Arthur had time to register much more, than man had a gun pointed at his horse. “Thousand dollars for you! And for what? So you can be beat by some  _ wild animal _ ?”

“Woah, mister, there’s no need—”

He whirled on Arthur. Calliope shifted, turned so she was facing the man rather than exposing her side. Arthur held his hands up, placating.

“It’s  _ my _ horse and I’ll do whatever I damn well please to it.”

“Seems a shame to shoot it though. And then what, you gonna walk to the nearest town?”

The gun wavered. The man had gone red as a beet, a vein prominent on his forehead. Eyes bloodshot. He half-turned to face his horse, gun lowered for a moment. The horse, still breathing like the devil had chased it here, kept its head down, shuddering.

“Or, I could take  _ your _ horse, since it’s  _ so _ superior to this ‘rare’ stallion I had imported.” The gun swung over to Arthur and the man pulled the trigger before he had time to react.

The shot startled both horses. The man shot blindly behind him at his fleeing stallion. As Arthur tried to calm Calliope, the man turned on him and got another shot off. He was immediately knocked to the ground when Calliope reared and brought her front hooves down right in front of the asshole.

Arthur slid from the saddle without another thought and shot the bastard square in the chest with his sawed-off. Made quick work of searching the body for valuables. Pleasantly surprised to find a fat billfold and a gold pocketwatch. Arthur dragged the body off the path, into some bushes, and glanced around for the stallion.

He was easy to spot, pale coat stark against the dark vegetation. Saddle had come off at some point and Arthur could see a fair amount of blood even from here. 

There were very few things he had no tolerance for, and mistreatment of a horse was near the top of the list.

Arthur made his slow approach with his hands held at his sides. The stallion fidgeted, eyes wide, scared of everything and not just Arthur in particular.

“Shhh boy, it’s alright. No one’s gonna hurt you anymore.”

Got within ten feet of the horse before his nostrils flared. The stallion danced backwards, into the river, and stopped when the water was at his knees. Arthur sighed. Glanced back to see Calliope  _ staring _ at the other horse like Arthur weren’t even there.

Arthur did not particularly want to soak his last set of clean clothes, but he wasn’t about to leave this horse out here. 

“Now, that’s not a good place to stand, boy.” He eased into the river. The stallion stayed, head high, but when Arthur reached his side he stayed.

“There, see? This ain’t so bad,” Arthur soothed as he reached for the bridle. Could tell right away the straps weren’t done up right on the  _ shank bit _ , of course the asshole was using a shank bit and hadn’t even bothered to fit it properly. Arthur undid everything, eased the tack from the horse and tossed it into the river. The stallion’s tongue darted out to lick at the scabs at the edge of his mouth. Arthur cooed at him, pat along his neck, surreptitiously checking him over for other injuries. Fat bands of pink scar across his nose and under his jaw where tack had rubbed it wrong, probably the entire time the asshole had him. Obvious marks from repeated, hard spurring. Welts across his flank from where the crop had hit during the last ride.

The stallion jerked when Arthur ran a hand over the shallow marks on his side. Arthur kept a hand on the horse’s neck and he soon settled.

Looked back at Calliope. Still staring at the stallion, but obediently waiting at the shore. Arthur had an idea.

“Come on, boy, let’s get you fixed up.”

Arthur coaxed the stallion to dry land with an oatcake waved under his nose. Hoped the idea would work—he hadn’t worked with a horse this scared in a long time. Arthur clicked his tongue and Calliope moved closer, slow, sniffing at the stallion.

He finally seemed to register there was another horse. Raised his head a bit.

Calliope all but rammed her nose into the stallion’s. He pulled back with a little startled noise, but overcame it in a second and nosed at Calliope’s face. Arthur moved to the stallion’s side, soaked his bandana in horse medicine and went about wiping down the wounds. Calliope was a sufficient enough distraction. Arthur was able to clean the wounds without a hoof to the face. 

Finished, Arthur stood, cracked his back. Calliope had stuck her head beneath the stallion’s, and he was resting his chin between her ears, eyes closed.

Arthur  _ absolutely did not _ get a stutter in his heart at the sight. Instead he focused on getting his rope into a makeshift halter so he could get the stallion back to camp. Weren’t too keen on riding him with fresh wounds.

  
  
  
  


Would’ve gone the whole way back to camp with the stallion trotting at Calliope’s side if it hadn’t been for the goddamn  _ Murphree Brood _ .

They’d shot at Arthur from the dusk-darkened treeline. The stallion took off at the first shot. Calliope made to go after him but Arthur held her firm as he returned fire. Couldn’t hardly see, sun almost completely set by now, but the calls of  _ these’s Murphree hills! _ kept Arthur motivated to finish the shootout.

He didn’t bother searching the bodies. Just wanted to find the stallion, give the poor horse some decent human experiences.

The stallion would not settle. Arthur was nowhere near comfortable with the idea of leading him, too hard to control if he got spooked again.

He had one hand on the stallion’s neck, the other holding out some sugar cubes. The horse snorted around Arthur’s hand like he had no idea what to do with them.

“They’re for eating, you silly thing.” Arthur pressed his hand closer to the stallion’s mouth; he finally seemed to understand, plucked one up and knocked the other two on the ground. Arthur retrieved them, and the stallion greedily sucked them up this time.

“Alright boy, let’s take this slow.”

Arthur was on his ass before he knew what happened.

Took a couple miles for the stallion to trust him, but Arthur got them into a messy trot not unlike his first ride with Calliope.

The woods chilled and blackened around them. Calliope kept pace next to the stallion when the trail allowed it. He seemed more at ease when he could see her. 

Arthur resigned himself to a long night of bareback riding.

\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

Arthur trotted into camp sometime close to dawn, covered in aches and pains. Swung between regret and pity while he rode the stallion, would’ve preferred to be on Calliope’s back more than anything.

She seemed utterly unbothered by the situation.

Most of camp was still asleep. Arthur winced as he dismounted, kept a hand on the stallion’s neck as he tied the lead to the hitching post. Calliope crowded Arthur and he had to duck under the stallion’s neck as she glued herself to the other horse’s side.

“ _ Another _ horse, Arthur?” Hosea had appeared at the post, steaming mug of coffee held between his hands.

“Feller challenged me to a race, threatened to shoot me  _ and _ his horse and then steal mine for the trouble.” Arthur did his best to soothe the jumpy stallion, though treats and soft words would only go so far. Could barely see Calliope over his tall back, but she quickly shoved her head under his again and that seemed to do the trick to get him to settle.

“So you nobly liberated him of his steed?”

Arthur barked a short laugh. “Killed the bastard cuz he shot at me anyways.”

Immediately Hosea came over to him, coffee left on a nearby barrel. Arthur tried to wave him off, but Hosea’s eyes were on the tear in Arthur’s shirt.

“Nothing serious, promise.” Side had been throbbing most of the way back, but Arthur was tired enough to ignore it. 

Hosea frowned at the gash. “I think I’ll be the judge of that. Kieran!”

Kieran, on his way to tend the other horses, startled to a complete stop. “Yessir?”

“See to this horse.” Hosea grabbed Arthur by the elbow, steered him towards a table and called for Miss Grimshaw. Arthur insisted the whole way it really weren’t nothing to fuss over, and he was  _ not _ about to admit that the pain had come back something fierce, now that he wasn’t focused on the horses. Hadn’t realized he’d actually been hit, not until the stallion bucked him for a second time when a cart rolled too close to them.

The pair of them had him peeled down to his union suit in no time. Hosea frowned at the deep line of red along Arthur’s ribs. Miss Grimshaw made her usual tuts of disapproval.

“See? Nothing serious.”

“It’s deep, Mr. Morgan, and it needs stitches.”

\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

Arthur sighed from his cot, bored beyond measure. Hosea threatened to tie him down if he saw him trying to lift anything again, seeing as Arthur had managed to rip his stitches  _ three times _ in as many days. Miss Grimshaw had slipped something into Arthur’s food a few nights ago, made him drowsier than a drunk. So he had resigned himself to sitting in bed and staying out of trouble. Anything to keep her from doing it again—the headache afterwards was worse than a hangover.

The stallion had gotten off easier than Arthur, according to Kieran. The bullet must’ve spooked the horse more than anything else, cuz all he had were the cuts and welts Arthur had already seen.

The horse was terrified of mostly everything and everyone. A dropped pot or split wood spooked him almost to running. The shadows from a flock of geese had him in a near panic one time.

Arthur glanced around camp, saw Grimshaw was otherwise occupied, and made a slow dash for the horses.

Calliope and the stallion were a bit away from the others, farthest they could be from camp and still be visible. Calliope was in her usual place, head tucked under the stallion’s neck. They both seemed to be dozing.

Arthur whistled, low. Calliope swung around to look at him, the movement waking the stallion. He blinked at Arthur but remained where he was as Calliope trotted over. She bumped his chest with her nose, nibbled along his sleeve until she got to his closed hand. Calliope lipped at his fingers, huffed in his face. When he saw the beginnings of teeth Arthur opened his hand and let her munch on the stack of oatcakes.

The stallion was looking over at them. Arthur approached, slow, Calliope bumping into his shoulder. Held a hand out for the stallion to smell, offered him a sugar cube. Arthur telegraphed his movements as he retrieved the brush from his bag, went real slow along the stallion’s neck. Kept the slow pace over his shoulders, along his back. Careful to avoid the cuts—Kieran must’ve been by already, yellowish sheen from salve covered the area. The medicinal smell was enough to cut through horse and leather.

Arthur got lost in detangling the stallion’s long tail. He had settled, considerably, at least when Arthur approached him. No one else had tried, ‘sides Kieran, but  _ every _ horse liked Kieran.

“You got a name for him yet?”

Arthur didn’t look up from the stallion’s tail. “Not sure I’m gonna keep him. Needs a lot of work we ain’t got time for.”

“It’s too bad, you can tell he’s real sweet under all the nervousness.”

Arthur undid a particularly stubborn knot and started to braid the tail. “Feller said he was something special from Europe.”

Kieran stood near the stallion’s head, holding out a bunch of carrots. Calliope snagged one before Kieran could stop her. The stallion took one without hesitation. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen a horse like him before.”

“Seen a few with a coat like his, not near as tall though. Or with a neck like that.” Arthur shrugged. Secured the braid with a small bit of cord. “Was thinking of taking him up to Dewberry once he’d settled more. Feller who owns the stable might know.”

“You know what kinda tack he had on ‘im?” 

Arthur walked along the horse’s side, hand along his back. “The wrong kind.”

Kieran had the stallion’s head in both his hands, inspecting the sores. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Looks like a shank bit or a hackamore that weren’t sat right.”

The stallion pulled free of Kieran’s hands to nose at Arthur’s shirt. Wuffed in his collar and turned away from the men, walked over to where Calliope had her nose in the grass. Kieran and Arthur watched the two horses, Arthur forgetting he should probably be snapping at Kieran to get back to work. Pearson hollered that the stew was ready.

“I threw that piece of shit in the river.”

“Good.”

\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

Calliope was a  _ terrible _ influence. Arthur would have to stop bringing to two of them out at the same time. He’d never be able to wear another hat again, at this rate. And he  _ really _ wanted his hat back,  _ right goddamn now _ , the sun trying once more to cook him alive. The skin on the back of his neck felt tight and he knew he’d be begging more balm off Mary-Beth soon as he got back to camp.

“Hesper I  _ swear _ to almighty God, if you do not get back here  _ right now _ —”

The stallion stopped abruptly. Arthur had had to tie Calliope to a tree to keep her from interfering. She’d taught the bastard her hat-stealing trick last week and Arthur was losing his patience.

Arthur put his hands on his hips. “Hesper.  _ Now _ .”

Hesper whinnied but obliged. “Load you down with all the game this time, see how rowdy you are afterwards,” Arthur grumbled as he dusted his hat, led Hesper back over to Calliope. Untied her from the tree and swung into the saddle. Just needed to get some goddamn game and he could head home and sleep away the hottest hours.

\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

Arthur saw Kieran approaching from the corner of his eye, hat in hand.

“Mr. Morgan, I think Calliope might be in foal.”

Arthur sighed from where he was brushing down Hesper. Hadn’t intended to keep the thing so long but was glad he did, now. “That’s what I was afraid of. Turn my back for five goddamn minutes...”

“You should probably keep her in camp, from now on. If she’s far enough along for us to tell, best not to ride her much.”

Arthur ran a hand through Calliope’s mane. She leaned into the touch, blinked at him real slow. He sighed. “Well, guess we’re going to have to visit the stables, huh girl?”

  
  
The stablemaster was able to confirm it, advised Arthur to take it easy on her for the next two or three months. Told him what to look for when she was closer to foaling. Arthur figured Kieran knew all of it already, but he scribbled it into his journal regardless.

Arthur did not appreciate Dutch and Hosea’s amused reactions when he told them the news. Turned tail and grumbled something about needing to make a pen for Calliope to keep her separate from the other horses when her time came.

\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

Someone was shaking his sore shoulder. Hadn’t slept in two goddamn days, better be a damn good reason—

“I-I’m sorry Mr. Morgan, I would’ve woken you sooner but it went so fast—“

Arthur shot up, tried to pass off his excitement for grumpiness at being awoken before dawn. Kieran hovered next to his cot, lantern in hand, almost jogging to keep up with Arthur as he rushed for the little corral they’d built just for Calliope. Arthur had to start tethering Hesper clear on the other side of camp; he could see the newly-gelded horse yanking on his ties. 

“Go calm him down, will ya? Take him for a ride if you have to.”

Calliope wickered at him as Arthur approached. The foal looked clean, trying to wobble onto its legs already. Didn’t make it the first few tries, flopped down splay-legged. Calliope licked along its neck, encouraged it with low noises. Arthur’s chest ached at the sight.

They wouldn’t be able to tell the coat color for some weeks, but the little filly had a blaze almost identical to her mother’s. Wider across a pink nose and a little crooked, but definitely from Calliope. 

\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

“What’re you gonna do with her?”

Arthur leaned his elbows against the fence, watched the filly dash around the pen while Calliope wolfed down her oats. 

“Wanted to give her to Jack, once she’s trained, if that’s alright with you.”

John took a step back, caught off guard. Arthur glanced at him from the corner of his eye, bare hint of a smile, before looking back at the foal. “Won’t be ready for a few years, but he’s small so he can start riding her young.”

“Arthur...”

“Truth is it would break my rotten heart to sell her. Better to keep her in the family.”

“I—thank you, Arthur.”

\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

Newborn-brown faded to a kind of buckskin, darker than her sire. Dorsal stripe and a dark line cutting down one shoulder, some striping high on her legs. That crooked blaze and the pink nose. . . .

Arthur tried to ignore the clench in his heart as he watched John introduce Jack to his horse. Kieran had done an excellent job weaning the foal, though Calliope was a bit of a clumsy first-time mother. Didn’t seem terribly bothered at being separated from her foal, not with Charles keeping her busy with oatcakes.

The filly sniffed at Jack’s outstretched hand. Arthur couldn’t hear what John was saying. Jack looked up at his father; John nodded, and Jack put his hands on the foal’s back. She didn’t have a name, yet. Arthur insisted Jack name her, since she would be his horse.

She nosed at Jack as he patted along her neck and sides. Looked like she’d inherit her sire’s height, would probably be too big for Jack for some years.

“If this ain’t the most precious thing I’ve seen.”

Arthur turned his head to see Abigail standing next to him, on the other side of the fence, shawl held tight over her shoulders.

“Just about.”

Abigail playfully punched his shoulder. He offered her a smile. 

“Sure you want to give her up?”

Arthur shrugged. “Ain’t giving her up, really.”  _ Not if we stick together as a family _ . 

“She turned out real pretty. Don’t think I’ve ever seen a coat like that, with the stripes?”

Arthur nodded, took a drag on his cigarette, offered one to Abigail. They smoked and watched John hand Jack half a carrot to give the foal. She gobbled it right up, started pushing at Jack trying to find more treats. His giggles carried easily over the packed grass of the corral.

“Alright Jack, say goodbye and come wash up for supper,” Abigail called. John startled at her voice; Jack came running over.

The filly followed him.

“Oh, no, I can see where  _ this _ is going,” Abigail shot at Arthur with a knowing smirk.

\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

Guinevere had gotten out of the paddock  _ again _ , and Arthur gave up trying to keep her in it. Always found her in the same place: curled up next to Jack.

Jack called her Ginny. Still had trouble getting his mouth around the whole name, but he  _ really _ wanted to name her Guinevere, and no one in their right mind would try to tell the boy otherwise.

Calliope never attempted to follow Ginny out of the pen. Arthur assumed she could smell the foal was still nearby, wasn’t too fussed about it now she’d been weaned.

Arthur crouched next to the sleeping boy and his horse. Abigail and John had gone into town the day before on a job and decided to stay. Jack had spent the night between Tilly and Mary-Beth after he fell asleep while she read him one of her own stories.

“Hey, Jack, rise and shine.” Arthur squeezed his shoulder, damn near choked on the affection swelling in his throat. Tilly and Mary-Beth giggled behind their hands, and Arthur shot them a glare after he cleared his throat.

Guinevere snorted as Jack stirred. He yawned, blinked up at Arthur. “Uncle Arthur?”

“Yeah, kiddo, time to get up and put Ginny back in her pen.”

Jack struggled to sit up. Guinevere nudged his shoulder, but there wasn’t much strength behind it. “But we were sleeping.”

“Well, I suppose you  _ could _ go back to sleep. . . . but then who’s gonna help me fit Ginny’s halter?”

Mary-Beth helped Jack to sit up the rest of the way. Guinevere got her long legs beneath her, shoved her head under Jack’s arm so it was draped over her neck.

“But you promised!”

“Then you best get up, mister.”

Jack rubbed his eyes, yawned again. Arthur could see Mary-Beth biting her cheek to keep her smile down. Tilly was far less successful.

“Let’s get you some breakfast, huh?”

  
Guinevere put up a fuss whenever Arthur tried to halter her. Hated to admit he needed the help of a four-year-old, covered for it by making it a game for Jack. Abigail always shot him a knowing look when he approached Jack, halter and lead in hand. That horse had bonded fast and she had bonded  _ hard _ .

Once at the pen, Arthur handed the halter to Jack.

“Alright, Jack, see if you can catch her. She’s getting awful fast.”

“I’ll catch her for you, Uncle Arthur! Watch!”

“Oh I’m watchin’. Don’t let her get behind you, now!”

Calliope watched from her hitching post. Arthur had a lot to do today, but Guinevere needed to get used to being handled and wearing the halter.

Guinevere dashed away from Jack; he ran after her, giggling. Arthur always gave him firm instructions not to offer a treat until she had calmed down.

Jack nearly had her. One hand on her nose—and she snorted and took off.

“Ginny! Get back here!” Jack managed through his laughter.

“You gotta show her who’s boss, Jack.”

Jack stopped. Guinevere paused, looked at him over her shoulder. Suddenly Jacks’ face was very stern, back rigid.

“Guinevere, stop it and come here.”

Guinevere huffed, stamped a foot. Then high-stepped over to Jack and lowered her head enough for him to slip the halter on.

“Now lead her over here, one hand by her nose—yeah, just like that, good job Jack.”

“Morning lessons going well?” Kieran paused by the pen, a bucket of carrots in one hand, a sack of something else in the other.

“Yeah, you mind taking over?” Arthur tossed the lead over Kieran’s shoulder. “Jack! Kieran’s going to help you walk her around, alright?”

Jack beamed at Arthur. “Okay Uncle Arthur!”

\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

“We’re only doing this for a few minutes to get her used to you, you’re tiny but she’s still young.”

“Okay.” Jack fidgeted with the buttons on his coat. 

They wouldn’t put a real saddle on Guinevere for another year, but she was big enough Jack could start to sit on her for small stretches. Arthur had tied a blanket around her to mimic where the saddle straps would be.

Arthur grabbed Jack beneath the arms and lifted him onto Guinevere’s back. “You remember the commands we talked about?”

“Uh huh.”

“Good, now get her to walk.”

Arthur stayed within arm’s reach as Jack guided Guinevere around the pen. Didn’t have a proper bridle for her, either, couldn’t get his hands on a training bit so they were working with rope attached to her halter for makeshift reins. 

Arthur was a bit jealous, really. Guinevere took to training like a duck to water. Had the same playful streak as her dam but she listened to Jack better’n Calliope listened to Arthur.

After a few rounds, Arthur instructed Jack to stop and helped him dismount.

“Can we go faster next time?’

“Maybe. We’ll see. We don’t want to do too much too fast. Got plenty of time.” Arthur ruffled Jack’s hair, then planted a hand on his shoulder to guide him out of the pen. “Run along and see if your mama needs help with anything.”

“Aw, okay!”

Arthur made his way over to Calliope. She’d tucked herself between some bushes, away from the other horses.

“Still mad at me, huh girl?”

She turned her head to look at him, and presented him with her backside. Swatted at him with her tail as he approached. Arthur held out a handful of peppermints. Calliope’s nostrils flared, but she took her time accepting the treats. Arthur stroked along her neck.

“I’m sorry girl, we couldn’t keep him around forever.”

Calliope snorted minty breath into his face. Bumped his chest with her nose and left it there. Arthur pat along her cheeks, dug in behind her ears.

“Tell you what,” he said as he did up a quick braid between her ears, “how about we go see him, if we have time?” 

  
  
  


Arthur was in and out of the homestead before sunup. Plenty of time for a little detour.

Calliope’s pace quickened once she realized what road they were on. Arthur did his best to keep her steady, but as soon as she smelled the stable she broke into a gallop and nearly yanked the reins from his hands. Practically brayed like a donkey when the corral came into view.

An answering whiny a few seconds later. Hesper trotted out from the open stable. Calliope went right up to the fence, pressed her chest into it. Hesper did the same from his side, and the two horses nuzzled into each other’s necks.

“Hey there, boy.”

Arthur sold Hesper once Guinevere had been weaned. Between Kieran’s care and Arthur’s training, the stallion had overcome his skittishness and the stable owner at Dewberry had been absolutely thrilled to get such a rare horse. Calliope hadn’t taken it well, escaped camp one time, even. Didn’t make it to Hesper, Arthur finding her near the river several miles away. They’d both been surly and Arthur’d run her up and down the Heartlands until she was too tired to fight. 

The first blush of dawn stained Hesper’s coat a creamy pink. Arthur reached over the fence to pat the stallion on the neck.

“You take care now, you hear?”

Hesper gave a low whinny. Arthur pulled Calliope’s reins around, turned her back for home. This time she didn’t fight as they trotted into the sunrise.

Arthur breathed deep on the cool air and considered himself a very lucky man.

**Author's Note:**

> If I have to live with all this useless horse knowledge so do the rest of y'all. YES I SPENT TOO LONG ON THIS lmaoooo I just find phenotyping and genetics super fucking fascinating.
> 
> Hesper is a Hanoverian, which were not exactly well-known in the US in the 1800s and were more popular in Europe. It originated in Germany and the first horse in the line was established in 1735. The first studbook for this breed was published in 1888!
> 
> Buckskin is "not allowed" to be registered as an official Hanoverian. "Regulations prohibit horses with too much white, and buckskin, palomino and cremello horses from being registered." Which is super lame bc those are the prettiest coat colors? The buckskin gene affects coat, skin, and eyes, whereas the dun gene only affects the coat and leads to hypomelanism, thus the signature dorsal stripe.
> 
> buttermilk buckskin, so what Hesper essentially looks like: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/06/53/79/06537941a468fb5f0a45984729639dd5.jpg
> 
> and this is basically what Guinevere looks like, but with feathering and a full blaze: https://i.pinimg.com/564x/34/0a/a3/340aa309d215041881b6801f2b0e23af.jpg
> 
> fun fact, it's safe to ride a pregnant mare until she's about 8 months along (horse gestation is 11 friggin moths)


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